


Blow a kiss, fire a gun

by alexanger



Series: Bold and young [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Caning, Choking on dick, Consensual, Crying During Sex, Degradation, Hate fucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson and Hamilton work out some tension.</p><p>[<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZlSMjicXJM">Title</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow a kiss, fire a gun

**Me:**  
Hey asshole you busy

 **Hamilton:**  
wow with a hello like that i guess ill just have to clear my schedule

 **Me:**  
Do you want to come over or not

 **Hamilton:**  
ugh fine i guess

 **Hamilton:** **  
** be there in 20

 **Me:**  
Make sure you don’t smell like shit

 **Hamilton:**  
thought you liked your boys dirty

 **Me:**  
Shut the fuck up.

 

Jefferson is on the couch in his living room, facing the unlocked door and stroking his cock lazily. There’s no rush; he makes just enough contact to keep himself hard, not enough to really get any closer to orgasm. He just needs to show Hamilton who’s in charge the moment he shows up.

And then Hamilton walks in the door and grins, and Jefferson tenses as the first words out of those uncomfortably perfect lips are, “wow, you really can’t keep your pants on around me, huh?”

“Had to get started by myself cause you were taking so fucking long,” Jefferson snaps.

“Yeah, is it that, or is it that even the _thought_ of me is so hot that you can’t control yourself?” Hamilton shuts and locks the door, props his cane against the wall, drops his backpack, and strips off his sweater and shirt in one motion. He’s a little softer than the men Jefferson is usually into, but that’s fine - it’s not like he’s fucking Hamilton for his body.

(To be fair, sometimes he doesn’t actually know exactly _why_ he’s fucking Hamilton. And then Hamilton has to go and open his mouth and say something like -)

“So are you going to stare at me all day, or are you actually going to do something with your cocktail weenie?”

“Get over here,” Jefferson snarls. “Lose the pants and shut the fuck up.”

“Wow, temper,” Hamilton says. Thankfully, he obeys - he drops his pants mid-stride and steps out of them. By the time he reaches the couch he’s shed his briefs, too, and his cock, half-hard, bobs thick and heavy, almost tempting enough for Jefferson to reach out and touch it.

Almost.

“You’re lucky I let you put your bare ass on my couch,” Jefferson says as Hamilton sits.

“Yeah, cause your bare ass is way more pristine than mine. What the fuck ever, Jefferson. Are we fucking or not?”

Jefferson grabs the loose ponytail tied at the back of Hamilton’s neck and yanks sharply. “Shut up. I keep telling you to close your fucking mouth.”

“And you keep not doing anything to back up the tough talk. Don’t hit my face today.”

“Anywhere else?”

“Gentle on my left thigh, it’s giving me trouble. No marks on visible areas. Other than that, go wild.”

Jefferson pulls again on his hair, this time harder, and Hamilton tilts towards him and tips his head back against Jefferson’s hand. “Safeword?”

“Vexatious.”

“Fuck you.” Jefferson spits and it splatters against Hamilton’s chest, dripping slick through the tangle of hair there. Hamilton makes a disgusted noise deep in his throat.

“Wow, it’s really not that obvious how you feel about me, you wanna make it a little clearer -”

“I keep fucking telling you -” Jefferson yanks Hamilton’s hair hard, pulling the little asshole horizontal across his lap, and lays a sharp, stinging smack across his ass. “Shut your mouth, right now.”

“Or what -”

Jefferson hauls on Hamilton’s hair until that frustrating mouth is hovering right over his cock, and then shoves him down. Hamilton, thankfully, has the presence of mind to be careful with his teeth; all Jefferson can feel as he sinks into that wet heat is the softness of lips and tongue.

“Told you,” Jefferson says, pulling Hamilton’s mouth up and down on his cock. “Told you to shut the fuck up, but do you ever fucking listen? No, you never give anyone any respect. Gonna teach you a lesson and you won’t even be decent enough to learn, will you? You obtuse little shit. We’re just going to have to do this over and over until you learn to behave yourself.”

Hamilton makes a noise that sounds like strangled laughter so Jefferson changes the angle and pushes him down harder, groaning as his cock slides into Hamilton’s throat. Suddenly Hamilton is gagging and choking, and Jefferson waits a moment for Hamilton to sign, _OK OK OK._

Hamilton is a surprisingly pliant fuck toy. Jefferson, hands fisted in his hair, pulls him up and down savagely, sawing his dick in and out of his throat. There are moments, every so often, where Hamilton can draw breath; the gasping in those moments is desperate and raw, the gagging in between gasps is harsh and visceral, and all the while Hamilton is swallowing and squirming and struggling, tears streaming out of his eyes.

“You okay?” Jefferson pulls Hamilton off and gives him space to breathe. Hamilton sucks in lungfuls of air and angrily scrubs the tears off his face.

“Are we fucking or not?” is his response.

So Jefferson pushes him back down and fucks into his throat, as deep as he can get - and then he waits, holding his toy still. For a few seconds, Hamilton just stares up at him, cocky as always despite the tears streaming out of his eyes and the aborted sobs, choked off before they begin; but soon the cockiness is tinged with desperation, and Hamilton struggles to pull back.

Jefferson holds him still.

He waits until Hamilton puts both hands on his thighs and pushes away desperately, in danger of tearing hair out, and then releases. Hamilton gasps and shudders, coughs hoarsely, and manages, “fuck -”

“Too much?”

In response Hamilton sucks Jefferson’s cock back into his mouth, but he avoids taking it deep enough to touch his throat. Jefferson allows him the break, but he can’t resist goading him with, “what, was that too hard for you? Considering how often you’re off running your mouth, I thought you had the stamina to take it a little harder there -”

Hamilton grunts and forces himself down on Jefferson’s cock until his lips are pressed right where it joins his body. His chest heaves, searching for air that isn’t there, and Jefferson strokes his head, much like he’d stroke a dog, and whispers, “look at you, finally using that mouth for something good. I’ve had better, but at least this isn’t horrible.”

He pulls Hamilton off, yanking hard enough on the long raven locks that Hamilton yelps, and tweaks one of his nipples. Hamilton is desperately hard, his nipples stiff peaks, and the quivering in his thighs as Jefferson holds him up speaks volumes about his hunger.

“Somehow I doubt that you’ve had better.” Hamilton’s voice is raw and hoarse. “Name one other guy who’d let you fuck his throat like that.”

“Did I tell you you could speak?”

“Like I need your permission -”

Jefferson digs his fingernails into Hamilton’s nipple and pulls sharply. The words die in Hamilton’s throat and he sobs instead, a grating, broken noise that makes Jefferson’s cock twitch.

“Better. What’s my rule?”

“Fuck you -”

Jefferson pulls again, revelling in the harsh, choking groan that tumbles out of Hamilton’s mouth. He waits patiently, and finally Hamilton says, “if I talk without permission you’ll punish me.”

“See? Even a worthless mutt like you can learn something after all. Did I give you permission to speak?”

“No -”

Jefferson pulls one more time and then follows that with a hard tug on Hamilton’s hair. Hamilton leans forward, against the tug of Jefferson’s hand, and presses his forehead to the hard lines of his stomach, his lips leaving trails of kisses in a gesture of supplication.

“I asked you a question.”

Hamilton shakes his head obediently.

“Good boy. Bend over the arm of the couch.”

Hamilton moves to stand, but Jefferson hasn’t released his hair yet. He struggles for just a moment, torn between pulling away - the explosion of pain in his scalp - and leaning into Jefferson’s hand - the sinking shame of outright disobedience. The distress is plain on his face. He opens his mouth and his tongue moves, and it’s clear that he’s about to speak - but then he closes his mouth and whines instead, and Jefferson releases him.

Hamilton bends over the arm of the couch. His arms stretch along the couch cushions, leaving his sides open and vulnerable, and his cock is pointed down along the outside upholstery, trapped between the couch and his thighs. The arm is low enough that he either needs to bend his knees, or stretch them back and stand on his toes, popping his ass out. He takes the second option, the way Jefferson likes, showing off the muscles in his calves, a feminine tilt in his hips.

“Shiiiit,” Jefferson says, low, drawn out, predatory. “I’m gonna hit you, Hamilton. You want me to hit you?”

Hamilton moans a desperate “mmhm” and sways his hips enticingly.

Jefferson takes his time. He stands slowly, stretching the length of his spine, and then bends to collect his favourite cane from the basket beside the couch, his cock bobbing obscenely.

“Has anyone ever told you how supremely weird it is that you keep sex toys in your living room -”  
Jefferson whips out with the cane, striking Hamilton across his ass. It whistles sharply and the strike sounds so hard that Jefferson is almost surprised to see the skin hasn’t broken.

The sensation takes a moment to settle, and then Hamilton gasps and jerks, pressing forward into the couch. A thin line of red is already raising; Jefferson strokes his palm over it, rough, unkind, and Hamilton makes a noise in his throat, pushing back against it, his thighs tense and trembling.

“Did I say you could speak?”

A nasal whine and a shake of the head, dark hair tossing.

“Are you going to speak again?”

There’s a pause, and Jefferson winds up with the length of his arm and lands another savage blow, almost directly on top of the first. Just like that, Hamilton is sobbing, tears cascading down his face, but he pushes his ass back and up, begging wordlessly for more.

“I asked you a question.”

“Fuck you -”

So Jefferson winds up and puts his whole weight behind the hit. He lands blow after blow, grunting with the exertion, and as he beats Hamilton, he can see the redness rising in his skin. Welts spring up, long, thin lines crossing over the tender skin of his ass. Jefferson pauses after a dozen strikes and traces his fingernail down across the welts, dragging just enough to make Hamilton sob.

“What have you learned?” Jefferson asks. Hamilton stays stubbornly quiet, and Jefferson fists a hand in his hair, yanking hard, and repeats, with a dangerous snarl in his voice. “what have you learned?”

Hamilton grins. “Absolutely nothing. _Sir.”_

“Roll over,” Jefferson says.

Hamilton makes a face but doesn’t question the command. He rolls onto his left side and Jefferson stops him there, tracing his fingers along his right hip.

“Where does your belt sit?”

“Sir?”

“Just answer the question, Hamilton. When your pants are on, where does your belt sit?”

Hamilton touches a point on his hip and traces several inches side to side. “Here.”

Jefferson swats Hamilton’s hand aside and digs his nails into that point on his hip, just deep enough to leave a ridge. “Hold still,” he says.

“Jefferson -” Hamilton sounds uncertain.

“Too much?”

“Wait. How many?”

“Enough to welt.”

“Okay.” Hamilton takes a deep breath.

“We can stop,” Jefferson says, but Hamilton cuts him off.

“Don’t be a fucking coward. Hit me.”

So Jefferson hits him.

The welt raises across Hamilton’s hip. Jefferson traces the path with his fingertip; the cane is whippy enough that it curved around to leave a sting on Hamilton’s abdomen as well, deep red throbbing under the hair. A disgusting moan falls from Hamilton’s lips, and as Jefferson drags his nails over the line, he takes pleasure in noting just how close he came to striking Hamilton’s cock with the tip of the cane.

“Another?”

“Mmhm -”

Jefferson winds up hard and delivers another hit. It settles across the jut of his hipbone and Hamilton yelps, jerking forward against the pain. One more sharp strike and Jefferson knows he’s pushed as far as he can - Hamilton is shuddering, tears flowing shamelessly from his eyes, and the set of his jaw, obstinate as ever, quavers with uncertainty.

So Jefferson sits on the couch and pats his lap, and Hamilton obediently straddles him, pressing their cocks together. Jefferson wraps one hand around them both and jerks hard and fast.

“Fuck,” Hamilton chokes. He nuzzles his face against Jefferson’s neck, leaning into him like he can’t hold his own weight, and makes soft mewling noises. In any other context, they might have been endearing; but they’re harsh and hoarse, roughened by the abuse his throat took, and they grate on Jefferson’s ears.

Jefferson drags the nails of his free hand across the welts on Hamilton’s ass and that yanks a rough yelp from his throat. “You’re gonna feel this for days, aren’t you?” Jefferson snarls. He sinks his teeth into Hamilton’s shoulder, sucks a livid bruise into the tender flesh, and growls, “you’re gonna be thinking of me every time you sit down. You’re gonna feel your belt against the ones on your hip and it’ll hurt so bad, won’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” Hamilton breathes, too far gone to make a witty retort.

“You like that? Shit, you’re so fucking desperate to be used, you don’t care how I do it. You just want these hands on you, don’t you, slut?”

Hamilton makes a cracked noise at that word, grinding against Jefferson’s hand. Jefferson always likes to save it until after the inevitable surrender; when Hamilton is open and hungry like this, it lands harder, hurts more, digs deeper. He knows the effect it has.

He’s careful to use it sparingly. Jefferson knows the value of using his words like whips. He beats until the sting reaches its peak, and then eases back and lets the pain settle and disperse like the blood rising in a bruise.

“Show me what you’re good for, mutt,” he hisses into Hamilton’s ear. “You were made for this, weren’t you? This is what you’re for - you were born to suck dick, born to take hits. Pity you gave up so easy. You act so tough for everyone but then you come here and I hit you a few times and you just break down, huh? Pathetic, aren’t you?” Hamilton groans, rutting into his hand, and Jefferson slaps his ass hard, insisting, “aren’t you? And you know it, too. You know you’re nothing but a weak-willed, pathetic mongrel, looking for anyone who pities you enough to use you for a while -”

Hamilton makes a strangled noise and then come is dripping hot over Jefferson’s fingers. “Gross,” Jefferson snaps, but he wipes his hand on himself and jacks faster, desperate to hit the edge. Hamilton’s breath is hot on his neck, and then there are teeth against his throat, lips sucking a bruise into his jugular notch, and as the sucking pressure verges on painful, he grunts and feels the first pulse hit. Jefferson keeps his eyes open long enough to see the first shot hit Hamilton’s stomach, and then he squeezes his eyes shut and lets the waves carry him.

He drifts for a moment, letting the sensations shudder through him, and then Hamilton whispers, “you don’t believe all that, right?”

“God, no,” Jefferson says, his voice low and husky. “You piss me off so much. You have to be strong to piss off a guy like me. And you’re so good at that. Means you’re good for way more than fucking. You’re alright.”

“Not pathetic,” Hamilton says insistently.

“That’s right. Not pathetic,” Jefferson agrees.

Hamilton snuggles up close, leaving a trail of soft kisses along the side of Jefferson’s neck. “I fucking hate you.”

“Hate you too, boo,” Jefferson mumbles through a haze of sleep. “Get blankets.”

“Magic word?”

“Fuck off.”

“Good enough.”

Hamilton drags the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around himself, doing his best impression of a burrito on Jefferson’s lap. Jefferson opens his eyes and scowls.

“Comfortable?”

“No, actually,” Hamilton says. “I’m far too warm. It’s very uncomfortable.”

“Okay, maybe if you weren’t wrapped in the blanket, if you were, I dunno, sharing it like a decent human being -”

“What the fuck is a decent human being? How do _you_ know what that is?”

“Fuck you,” Jefferson says. He wrestles Hamilton out of his burrito and drapes the blanket over both of them, and then drags Hamilton forward for a kiss. There’s animosity there, as they grapple to control the kiss, but finally Hamilton gives in and melts a little, letting Jefferson nip his lower lip. Jefferson strokes his hands soothingly along Hamilton’s back in long, slow passes; he feels Hamilton go loose under his hands and settle against him to snuggle.

“Okay,” Hamilton whispers. “You were right. This is way more comfortable than hogging the blanket.”

“When will you learn I’m always right?”

“I’m not a very good learner. Think you’ll have to teach me another lesson, Thomas.”

Jefferson grins. “Nap first, paddling later.”

“No complaints,” Hamilton says. He heaves a deep sigh and adds, “I hate you.”

“You already said that.”

“It’s always good to tell the important people in your life how you feel.”

Jefferson feels a warm swell in his chest. He kisses Hamilton’s cheek roughly and whispers back, “I hate you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos clear my skin and make my crops thrive. chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
